More words of prayer are muttered to the abandoned gods;
as we explore the peak of our pleasure –
in hunt for a treasure –
a well-satisfying, self-devouring essense
found in
in the cauldron of blasphemous thoughts
where blood boils, and breathing turns rapid –
a continuous, rhythmic pant.

The flesh aches;
the backbone – a machinery
pursuing the unfathomable depths
of yearnings –
a humble act of exploration.
The palms clasp tighter against each other
as the heavy breathing now descends into
exhalation of cigarette smoke;
soaked in desire a puddle of liquids –
so pungent –
drip through the slanted surface of the sweat-soaked skin,
and form a puddle on the mattress-
art on canvas.